Tomb
by liketheriver
Summary: Dead kings, culture shock, and an Ancient trash compactor. Sheppard and McKay find themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time, yet again. SheppardMcKay friendship.
1. If it's not one thing

**Tomb**

**by liketheriver**

_RATING: T for language._

_SEASON: Second half of second season…sometime_

_MAJOR CHARACTERS: The boys, of course, (if you don't know who I'm talking about, you're in the wrong fic),along with a smidge of just about everyone else_

_CATEGORY: a little of this, a little of that._

_SUMMARY: Dead kings, culture shock, and an Ancient trash compactor. Sheppard and McKay find themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time, yet again. Sheppard-McKay friendship._

_SPOILERS: There are a few mentions of things here and there, but nothing gets spoiled._

_FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I thrive on it and so do the bunnies._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. In fact, I don't even own a trash compactor. But I sure know how they feel sometimes._

_NOTES: This story is part of the Dictionary series. It's not necessary that you read the others but things might make a little more sense if you did. The list is on my profile page if you're interested. _

_ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Special thanks, as always, to Koschka for the betaing and constant demands for more fic! And thanks to Dr. Dredd for some demented conversations on the best way to hurt the ones we love. I just hope I didn't screw up what she told me too badly, if I did, the fault is all mine._

_XXXXX_

**tomb** (toom), _noun_, 1. A grave or other place of burial. 2. A vault or chamber for burial of the dead. 3. A monument commemorating the dead.

**Part 1: If it's not one thing….**

How the hell did we end up in these situations?

It was a question I had asked myself on more than one occasion and as I watched the unadorned black wall move even closer to me as I worked, I couldn't stop it from coming yet again.

It wasn't me. Couldn't be me. Why the hell would it be me? I wasn't evil…not in the purely maniacal, power hungry, rule the world way that you would think of say Hitler or Chairman Mao or J. Lo. Not even in the misguided I'm doing it for a higher purpose vein of the Spanish Inquisition or Bin Laden or Tom Cruise. No, I was one of the good guys, fighting for the betterment of the Universe and all mankind. Sure I wasn't that fond of most of those I was fighting for, but that just made my work in support of them all the more noble and giving. A man that can overcome his personal annoyance with an entire species and still strive to improve their quality of life deserves to have the Cosmos cut him a fucking break now and again.

Which brought us back to the original question: how the hell did we end up in these situations? And that left only one answer: it was Sheppard's fault.

The man was cursed. How else do you account for the fact that he nearly ruined his military career trying to save lives? How else do you explain that he woke the entire Wraith population risking his life trying to rescue a CO that didn't even like him? How else could you even attempt to elucidate our current situation? You can't. There is no rationale for why we were watching the room grow increasingly smaller as it pushed us closer to the bier of a dead man behind us, which only left the irrational conclusion that John Sheppard had at some point run across some bad juju and his subsequent damnation had leaked onto me by nothing more than my sheer proximity to him. Like being a passenger on the plane when it was suddenly the pilot's time to travel to the great hereafter. Regardless of if it's your time or not, you're going along for the ride.

Working one of the blades of my Leatherman into a rusty seam on the wall panel, I tried to pry it open. Even my grunt of exertion did little good and I looked over my shoulder into the pale face of my obviously hexed and partially poisoned teammate. "A little help here would be nice, that is if you have nothing better to do than watch the wall move closer to squashing us into human guacamole."

"Just remember _you_ are the one that made the comparison between yourself and an avocado, McKay." He pulled the knife from his belt and joined me, blinking back against the dizziness that threatened him and together we managed to bend the metal hatch back, if not swing it open.

"How're you feeling?" I asked, trying to keep the worry from my voice as he used his arm to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Just get us out of here, and I'll feel a whole hell of a lot better." Without being asked, he pulled his penlight and shined it into the panel so that I could peer in and try to identify the correct crystal that would not only stop the wall but send it moving in the opposite direction, seeing as the only door out was currently located on the opposite side of the wall.

Sneezing yet again, I tried to block the sound of metal grinding against metal and concentrated instead on the transparent pieces before me. "All I ask is that when I die, skip the flowers at my funeral, okay?" The dead bodies behind us were covered from head to toe with the native equivalent of ragweed and I sniffled again, even as I pulled out a crystal to study it, blinking against the pollen-induced tears that blurred my vision.

"If you don't hurry up, Rodney, I'll be dead right along with you and unable to carry out your last request."

Replacing the crystal I had just pulled and dismissed, I quickly pulled another, as the wall crept within a few centimeters of the panel. It's one thing to feel the walls are closing in on you during a claustrophobic episode; it's another entirely to watch them do it for real. "Your pressure combined with the ones in my sinuses are not helping, Colonel," I sing-songed through clenched teeth as I once again returned the crystal in my hand. It had to be one of the ones on this row, it just had to be. Ah ha! There she was. Now, to just figure out which one to swap it with to reverse the wall…

"Sheppard, you two making any progress?"

Ronon stood on the opposite side of the wall, holding off anyone trying to stop us from leaving the tomb once we found our way out. Given the fact that the wall was still moving, I doubted anyone was putting up much of a challenge to the large man, and pulling yet another crystal I couldn't help but wonder if his question was brought about by worry or boredom.

"McKay's working it now," Sheppard informed him. "Any sign of Teyla?"

"She should be back to the gate by now and back with Zelenka and the others soon."

Not soon enough, though, I thought darkly as I once again failed to identify the correct crystal. Wedging my hand back in the opening we had created in the wall, I slipped the crystal back into place and pulled what I thought was the correct one. Quickly placing the first crystal into the slot of the second, I went to place the second back into that of the first only to have it slip from my fingers. "Crap." My hand dug blindly in the opening for the piece even as Sheppard demanded to know what had happened. "Slight setback," I told him tightly, feeling the purpose of my probing with the tips of my fingers. Placing my face against the wall above the panel so I could reach down further, I could feel the moving wall pressing against my back in return.

"Rodney, get out of there," Sheppard ordered from beside me.

"Almost got it," I assured him as I grasped the smooth surface between thumb and index finger.

"Now, McKay." He was leaning back against the wall himself and digging in his heels in a futile attempt to try to slow its progression even though we both knew it would do no good, the sound of his boots sliding over the dirt on the tile floor was evidence enough.

Pulling the crystal out, I hurriedly slipped it into place…and nothing happened. "What? Oh, no no no no no," I shouted at the wall. "You were supposed to be moving back, you useless piece of shit!" The wall, however, completely disagreed with my assessment and kept steadily moving. With a growl I put my hand back into the opening only to have it and the rest of me pulled away by Sheppard.

"Too late, McKay." With disbelieving eyes, we watched as the wall slid across the panel, sheering off the metal door we had mangled with a grinding noise to set my teeth on edge.

I sneezed again, trying not to let the claustrophobic panic set in and failing miserably. "What…what do we do now? We can't get out. Radek won't get here in time to stop it from the other side. We're going to be squashed into a Sheppard-McKay-dead-king-and-his-equally-dead-family flowery paste. I'm going to die sneezing my genius brain out even as it's squashed like an overripe casaba!"

Hands locked onto my shoulders and Sheppard was right there in my face. "Rodney! Get a fucking grip. We're not dead yet and the panel will be showing up on the other side of the wall in just a minute."

"And what good will that do us if Radek is back on Atlantis engraving a new name plaque with Chief Science Officer under his name?"

"Ronon is out there." He spoke slowly and calmly and if not for the way his eyes couldn't seem to focus on me, it would have been almost believable. "You can talk him through it."

I rolled itchy, watery eyes that he would even suggest something like that and sniffled again. "And if I gave him a typewriter and an infinite amount of time he would eventually type the collected works of Shakespeare."

"He survived the Wraith for years. I think he's smart enough to follow a few directions from you."

"Well, if I needed him to shoot the damn crystals or knife them, he'd be my first thought. But seeing as we need them whole so we can not only stop the wall but reverse it, I'm a little leery of any expertise he might have picked up killing Wraith."

"He's not going to shoot them," he ascertained confidently.

"Hey, Sheppard, the panel just showed up. You want me to shoot it?"

At Ronon's question, we both yelled, "No!" across the radio before I gave the man beside me a told-you-so shake of my head. He simply frowned in irritation that I had been right then went on to tell Ronon, "No, we don't want it damaged. Rodney's going to talk you through what to do to get the wall to reverse."

"Okay, whatever you want."

The disappointment in the Satedan's voice was obvious as was my own annoyance when Sheppard turned back to me with a coaxing motion of his hands to get on with it. Wiping my nose on my jacket sleeve with another sniffle, I couldn't help but wonder yet again, how the hell we ended up in these situations.

And this time, without a doubt, the fault fell completely on Sheppard.

XXXXX

"That guy is seriously old," Sheppard observed under his breath of the man sitting on the ornate throne before us.

I nodded in agreement from where I stood beside him as we waited to be admitted to the royal court. "He probably personally knew some of the Ancients that abandoned Atlantis."

From John's opposite side, Teyla shot us both disapproving looks. "Mynorine suffers a disease that makes him appear older than his actual age. He is actually little more than the age of my own father were he still alive."

"Disease?" I demanded already backing toward the door. I may have left my wunderkind status behind a few years prior but I had no intention of taking on the venerable old sage look for a few decades yet.

"It is not catching," she assured me. "It is passed much like the gene of the Ancestors is passed and it is quite common among the Victavan people."

"Well evidently _she_ didn't inherit the defect, unless she's really twelve." The she Sheppard was referring to, and smiling lazily at as she walked toward us, was a curvaceous young woman with a pile of dark black curls sitting on top of her head. Given the strands of gems that were interwoven with the ringlets and the finely embroidered and low cut dress she was wearing, I had a feeling she was a member of the royal household and I was quickly proven correct.

"Teyla," she greeted with a warm smile. "As always it is good to see you. It has been much too long since your last visit."

"Queba, once again your hospitality has been sorely missed." Queba? Seriously who came up with these names? I had to wonder if they found our Earth names as odd…. John? Rodney? However could a parent do something like that to a child?

Turning her attention to the rest of us, our hostess eyed us curiously. "I am not familiar with your traveling companions."

"Forgive me. May I present Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, and Specialist Ronon Dex."

Evidently size does matter because she let her eyes slip casually over the Colonel and me and concentrated instead on Ronon. "Any friend of Teyla's is most welcome here on Victav."

Sheppard's bedroom smile transmuted into a playground pout and I leaned in conciliatorily. "They obviously have a lot in common. She has a lot of hair; he has a lot of hair. Their names include two of the least utilized letters in the alphabet. She's apparently impressed with a large sword, and he has…"

"Shut up, Rodney," he sulked before returning the easy smile to his face and approaching her. "Teyla has had nothing but good things to say about your people. We certainly hope we can establish a friendship between our people like the mutual one we have with the Athosians."

"I'm sure that in the future we can come to that sort of relationship, however, I am afraid now is not the time to develop diplomatic ties." At Teyla's worried expression she continued. "It is my father," she looked back at the elderly man slumping in the throne. "He is not well. As you are aware, the aging sickness brings death early. In fact, the end could come at any moment."

"Oh, Queba, I am truly sorry," Teyla told her with genuine sympathy. "Mynorine is a good and fair leader of your people. He will be sorely missed when the time does come. We will, of course, respect your wishes and return another time."

Forcing a sad smile, the woman shook her head. "I forget my responsibilities and dishonor my father and his station. You have traveled far, and it is my duty and privilege to receive you properly. Please, partake of some food and drink in celebration of your return and in welcome to your new friends."

Finally, something I could sink my teeth into, literally. Diplomacy was...how could I put it nicely… about as exciting as a pocket calculator with nothing more than the basic add, subtract, multiply, and divide functions. Smile, compliment, evade and keep an eye on your backs, those were the basics of interstellar relations. And if you were lucky you got an occasional snack thrown in for good measure. The buffet Queba showed us was set up at the back of the receiving hall and at her beckoning we filled our plates with a variety of Victav finger foods.

Sniffing curiously at a meatball with an odd crunchy coating that looked suspiciously like spider legs, I asked, "So this building was modeled after the Ancients' architecture… the Ancestors'," I corrected when she gave me a puzzled look.

"Yes, the Ancestors built the entire Leadership Complex that the Supreme Leaders have inhabited for many, many generations. Ever since the Victav left their original homeworld following a particularly vicious culling and came to settle here."

"So the buildings were already here when you came?" I dug in my pocket for my detector without even waiting for her response. I hadn't even brought it out before seeing as this was just supposed to be a make a new friend sort of mission.

"Yes, so the legend goes. The Supreme Leader at the time, one of my own blood relatives, took up residence in the buildings and the village sprung up around them. Of course, that was twenty generations ago. There are many wonders here… closets that move you from one floor to the next, walls that show the language of the Ancestors, doors that open at the touch of your hand."

I zoned out the prattle at that point as I studied the energy detector in my hand. There was a ZedPM here, no doubt in my mind. Sheppard peered over my shoulder to look at the readouts. "Is that…"

"Ohhhhh, yeah," I grinned in answer to his unfinished question.

"Another city like the buried one with the tower?" Ronon asked.

"No, I don't think so," I told them. "I think it's just an outpost, but there's no telling what we could find here."

"Is there a problem?" Queba asked suspiciously.

Teyla stepped in and did her thing at that point, which was cover our asses when he screwed up and forgot about the social proprieties on another planet. "No, of course not. It is just that Dr. McKay is very interested in the Ancestors and their relics. He is just excited to be in one of their former dwellings."

Before she could inquire further, there was a commotion near the throne and she rushed to her father's side. The four of us stood wondering exactly what we should do, when Teyla finally spoke. "Perhaps it would be best if we left and returned at another time."

Ronon crammed three more vegetable cheese puffs in his mouth before taking a final guzzle of wine, indicating he was in agreement with Teyla. I was more hesitant, I mean, there was a ZedPM somewhere in this facility. Not that we would necessarily take it, but knowing a little more about it, perhaps trading our partially drained one for a more fully charged one, couldn't be completely overlooked. Still, the wail of despair from the throne suggested the future wasn't looking too bright for the old guy and emotionally charged situations tended to make me nervous and often break out in a rash.

But it was Sheppard that actually said something. "Now, let's not be too hasty here. Maybe we should stick around, pay our respects, get on the new administration's good side."

Narrowing my eyes in confusion, I eventually rolled them in realization. "Oh my God, you want to play the comfort card."

"I do not," he defended.

"Comfort card?" Teyla's question was met with an amused smirk from Ronon.

"I don't," Sheppard insisted to the Satedan.

Teyla's eyes widened in disapproval when she finally understood what we were talking about. "Colonel Sheppard would never do something so devious as to take advantage of woman in mourning. Would you?"

The Colonel suddenly found the ceiling very interesting which might have had something to do with the way Teyla was looking at him. "Never is such a definitive word." With a sigh he admitted, "Okay, the first girl I ever got to second base with had just come home from her aunt's funeral."

At Teyla's opened mouthed shock I stepped in. "Please, every guy has done it. I used it with the girl I was tutoring in physics my sophomore year when her grandmother died. Ronon?"

The warrior shrugged. "My cousin's best friend when her pet bird was eaten by a burkan."

I had no idea what a burkan was and I was pretty sure neither did Teyla but it didn't stop her from glaring at Ronon. "I'm sure men have tried it on you, too," I told her. "Do you mean to tell me that you didn't have men offering you a shoulder to cry on when Charrin died?" At my question, she just glared harder at Ronon.

If my eyes weren't deceiving me, I would swear the Satedan cringed and tried to cover it by scratching his forehead awkwardly. "So, I'll meet you guys outside," and he hurried from the room.

"I will not stay so that you can take advantage of a woman in an emotionally vulnerable state," Teyla seethed before turning on her heels and storming after Ronon.

"Teyla, wait," Sheppard called after her weakly then whacked me upside the head. "Way to go, McKay."

Rubbing at the sore spot at the base of my skull, I glowered. "I'm not the one trying to bag the space princess at her father's funeral."

"I'm not trying to do that!" When I shook my head in disbelief that he was still trying to keep up the pretense, he crossed his arms and insisted, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was trying to stick around because with a funeral going on they may not notice us checking out the facility?"

"Oh, so while you are up sympathizing with the distraught daughter, I'm going to be sneaking around looking for the ZedPM? How very noble and self sacrificing of you, John. Does the Air Force offer a commendation for bravery in the line of nookie?"

His comeback was interrupted by Queba being led from the room, crying and reaching back as she forlornly called for her father. Among the entourage of people leaving the room with her I heard someone tell her. "You must leave now. You are the successor; you must not be in the room when the end comes."

"Hmm, odd custom," I observed, popping another meatball in my mouth as the group of people left.

"Yeah, well, to each his own, I guess. Come on, let's go catch up with Teyla and see if she's ever going to speak to any of us again."

But before we could reach the door, a voice from the front of the room announced loudly. "Mynorine is dead. Rejoice, for we shall all be the companions of these great and noble man even unto death."

The handful of people still present in the room repeated in rote, "Even unto death," and the doors to the hall closed with a reverberating thud.

Sheppard and I looked at each other warily as we heard the distinct sound of something large sliding into place outside the doors. "Another odd custom?" I asked hopefully. "One that doesn't apply to us since we're strangers here?"

The Colonel approached one of the guards standing near the door and flashed his best good ol' boy smile. "Hi there. We don't mean to intrude and if it's okay with you, we'll just slip out here and leave the family to grieve in peace."

The man blinked in surprise. "No one present in the chamber at the time of death may leave. We must all accompany the Supreme Leader on his journey from here."

Stepping in behind Sheppard I raise an inquiring finger. "Just to clarify, what exactly do you mean about accompanying him on his journey from here?"

"We will join him in his tomb," the guard explained.

"For how long?" Sheppard demanded.

"Forever."

At the answer I turned to my teammate. "Well, I guess Ronon gets to comfort all the women on Atlantis now."

XXXXX

"Okay, first thing you need to do is try to open the panel a little more so you can see better," I instructed our Satedan teammate on the other side of the moving wall.

"All right, got it," he responded a few seconds later.

"What, already?" I didn't even attempt to hide my amazement. "You opened it already?"

"Yeah, I just sort of…pulled it off."

My open-mouthed gape at the brute strength of the man who had just 'pulled off' what took both Sheppard and me to pry partially back resulted in John rolling his hands. "Moving wall, Rodney. Impending death. Gawk later," he breathed heavily, leaning with one arm on the same wall that the panel had been on.

"Right." Shaking off my awe and the concern that he was obviously getting worse, I turned my attention back to my instructions, trying to picture as best I could the panel as I had seen it before. "Ronon, you need to concentrate on the crystals on the third row. That's where the control crystals are located."

"The ones with the blue tint?" He confirmed from the other side.

"No, no, those are on the fourth row." Dear God, could the man not even count? "You want the ones with the purple-pink tint."

"But those are the ones on the fourth row," he countered.

What? I distinctly recalled they were on the third row. Then it dawned on me what he was doing. "You're counting from the bottom, not the top. Why would he count from the bottom?" I asked Sheppard with a look of utter amazement again, only this time for the absolute illogical nature of our teammate.

However the channel was still open and Ronon asked in return, "Why would you count from the top?"

"Because… because…" I honestly had no answer as to why I automatically counted from the top down. "Because that's the cultural norm on Earth," I finished testily.

"Hmm. That's strange," was his only observation.

Societal mores, they were going to be the death of me yet, quite literally if I couldn't overcome not only one but two distinct sets of them. Sneezing yet again, I dug out a handkerchief even as we took another step back away from the approaching wall and concentrated on the immediate issues of Satedan traditions. "Okay, so you are now looking at the third row from the top, fourth row from the bottom that is purplish-pink. On that row you need to find the command crystal, which I slipped into the fifth position… _from the right_," I stressed meaningfully.

"Well, obviously from the right." Ronon made it sound like it was absolutely the dumbest thing in the world to clarify that point and I grit my teeth to control my frustration. "Okay, found it. Now what do I do?"

"Swap it back with the crystal in the third position." Once he had things returned to the original positioning we could try to reverse things. "Now you need to find the crystal that makes the wall move backward and slide it into the control crystal position."

"What does that one look like?"

"If I knew that, I would have been able to do it from this side. You're just going to have to pull them and describe the etchings on each one until we find it."

"Okay. First one has three squiggly lines with a sort of tilted line under it and a swoop."

"No, not that one," I dismissed instantly.

"Next one looks kind of like a dead senlack bug lying on its back."

"I have absolutely no clue what that means."

"A curve with a bunch of lines sticking out at odd angles and a billowy shape over it."

Considering for a moment I dismissed that one, as well. "I don't think so, but remember where that one is just in case."

"Hey, Rodney, where are the remains of the other dead kings?" John asked from where he stood studying the pile of dead bodies in the back.

"Not now, Sheppard." I put his comment out of my mind, concentrating instead on the description Ronon was giving of the next crystal, as if I had any concept of what the spires on the Temple at Dresleon looked like. When he gave me a description that actually meant something to me I smiled happily. "That sounds like the one or at least it will stop the wall and give us a little more time to find the reverse switch. Swap them out." Turning back to Sheppard I asked, "Now what were you saying?"

"If this is the final resting spot for all the former Supreme Leaders, where are their bodies?"

We had decided that the tomb was actually the Ancient equivalent of a trash compactor. Back when the Ancients had inhabited the buildings, refuse from the complex was brought in and the walls compacted it then moved back to allow more trash to come in. Which is why I fervently believed the wall would move backward if we gave it the right command. But Sheppard brought up a good point as there were no other remains in the room, only the flower-draped bodies of the king and the poor souls that had been willing to accompany him in death. They had been neatly stacked around the enormous black, alter-like, elevated platform the king himself rested on and covered with those miserable pale green weeds that were making my imminent death even less of a pleasurable experience than it typically was. The flowers and bodies passed no further than the dark line that evidently separated the black-painted walls of the dead zone from the rest of the grey metal tomb. And something about that made me look back to the wall moving our direction… the _black_ wall.

With eyes widening in understanding I ran a finger down Sheppard's vest that had been leaning back against the wall previously and pulled it away with its own dark smudge. "It's not paint; it's soot."

Looking at the finger, he came to the same conclusion I did. "It's not just a trash compactor; it's an incinerator, too."

"So what triggers the fire?" I asked worriedly as my eyes darted about the room and I could just make out a row of circular openings in the ceiling above the bodies.

I didn't have to wait long as the wall behind us stopped advancing when Ronon had switched the crystals and a roaring sound rumbled above us. "It stopped," Ronon stated the obvious but neither of us paid any attention.

"Move, McKay," Sheppard said quietly even as he grabbed my shirtsleeve and pulled me backward and the roaring escalated. A spray of liquid showered onto the funeral bier that, from the sweet smell of flammable liquid that penetrated even my stuffed nose, I could tell was about to become a pyre. "Move!"

"Ronon, switch them back," I called frantically as we pressed against the now unmoving wall that was little more than five meters from the bodies. Nowhere near far enough away should the fluid dousing the chamber ignite. "Switch them back!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Just do it!" John ordered as we cowered back against the far wall even as the liquid continued to fall, quickly soaking the human timbers and starting to flow in our direction. "And hurry the fuck up!" Because we both knew that any second the flames would follow.

The wall started moving again and the spray stopped, the puddle of liquid just reaching our boots and dripping from the flowers and bodies. "Okay, it's moving again. You two all right?"

Breathing quickly I looked to Sheppard who was looking a little winded himself and this time it had little to do with the damn drink. "Yeah, for now," he answered Ronon slowly then addressed me. "So the good news is we won't be squashed."

I whimpered at the prospect of what the alternative was. "I'm starting to the think the poison might have been a good idea after all."

XXXXX

An hour after Mynorine's death we were still locked in the throne room. From the conversations around us we learned that the king's wife, his younger son who also had the aging disease, his oldest advisor and two of his elite guards had also remained in the chamber to accompany him in death.

Sheppard had tried to talk to the son, a man who was probably in his late twenties but looked to be approaching middle age, but to no avail. The problem was that evidently the king could not pass into Victavan heaven unless everyone present at the time of his death went with him. It was an all or nothing deal with them. In addition, the Victav couldn't understand our reluctance to die along with them since they considered it a great honor as we would automatically pass straight into the penthouse suite of the afterlife by being part of the king's entourage. And evidently Teyla was having as much luck as we were trying to talk to Queba.

"I have tried to speak with her and explain, Colonel, but she seems genuinely baffled that you and Dr. McKay do not see this as an honor to join her father and other family members."

At Teyla's update, I keyed my own radio. "Teyla, you and Ronon have guns. Big, powerful guns. Just start shooting and get us the hell out of here." We had left our weapons outside the throne room as was the custom here in Victav, the others keeping one knife visible as was allowable since the Victavan carried what appeared to be ornately decorated ceremonial daggers.

"Rodney, we aren't going to start shooting the place up," Sheppard insisted, "at least not yet. But it might be time to break out the big guns in another sense. Ronon, head back to Atlantis and get Weir. If anyone can reason with these people, she can. In the meantime, Teyla, you keep at it with Queba."

"Sheppard, Teyla should go back to Atlantis. I have a feeling McKay's right and you're going to need me here."

"Thank you, Ronon," I gloated at Sheppard.

"We're not at the point where we need to start shooting people," he insisted.

"I agree with Colonel Sheppard," provided Teyla, "The Victavan people have been friends with the Athosians for a long time. I would hate to ruin those relations because of a social blunder."

"Social blunder? This isn't about using the salad fork for the entrée. Hell, this isn't even about using the salad fork to pin the Natrinian Chancellor's hand to the table when someone thought he was going for a weapon when he was just scratching."

At my recollection of Ronon finally finding a use for a fork he could whole-heartedly support, he grumbled, "He was spending an awful lot of time with his hand in his crotch."

"Well, alien jock itch infestations aside, we are on an entirely new level here. They want us to _die_ and we don't want to die and they can't seem to accept that. And all the talking in the world isn't going to get them to forfeit their religious convictions."

"You don't know that, McKay," Sheppard maintained.

"Oh, right because Earth history has proven my supposition incorrect repeatedly. I'm sorry; did I miss the announcement of the mutual disarmament in the Middle East? It must have been while I was reading that history of the Crusades."

Sheppard just frowned at my sarcasm but finally admitted, "All right, you might have a point, but it won't hurt to try."

With a resigned shake of my head, I sighed. "Fine, go get Elizabeth, but bring Zelenka back, as well. They said the tomb is in the lower levels of the facilities, which might mean it's accessed by Ancient technology. If that's the case, we might need him to get us out if we can't talk our way out."

"Very well," Teyla agreed. "I shall return shortly."

After Teyla's abrupt farewell, I slumped into a chair near the spread of food. "So, for now, I guess we wait."

Sheppard simply nodded and leaned casually against the wall beside my seat. At least he appeared casual to anyone not familiar with him. I could see the way his eyes scanned the room, looking for a potential escape route should the negotiations for our release fail. After a few minutes he stood straighter. "I think we should move toward the throne."

"Why? There's a dead guy up there." It's not that I had anything against dead people in general, it's just… well, they're dead and that's just creepy.

"Yes, I know that. There's also a door behind that curtain." Looking where he indicated with a tilt of his head I could see the large wall hanging move slightly with a weak breeze.

"I thought we were giving Elizabeth a chance at diplomacy?"

At my dry tone he shrugged defensively. "Doesn't hurt to check it out."

Working our way up to the front of the room, we never made it to the door. About halfway there, the Royal Advisor intercepted us with a tray of drinks in small narrow containers that resembled flat-bottomed test tubes and held about the same amount as a shot glass would. "For the final toast to the Supreme Leader Mynorine."

Sniffing at the green iridescent liquid he had given me, I asked Sheppard warily, "I think I smell citrus. Do you think it has citrus in it?"

"I don't know, McKay," he responded irritably as he held his own glass and glanced toward the curtain once again.

"Well, I can't drink it if it does. And the last thing we need is for me to be keeling over with an allergic reaction in the middle of everything else that is going on here."

"No, the last thing we need is to commit another faux pas with these people."

"What are they going to do, kill us twice? I don't care who I insult, I'm not drinking it if it's going to cause my windpipe to close off. Call me crazy but I have a thing about breathing."

"Christ," he snapped before sneaking a sip. "It tastes fine. I don't taste any citrus, okay?"

"Thank you," I shot him a droll smirk then turned my attention to the advisor who had finished distributing the drinks and stood with his tiny cup raised before the dead king.

"In honor of Mynorine, beloved Supreme Leader, father, husband, and friend. With this drink of death we join you on your journey."

"What?" I demanded even as the others tipped their flutes back immediately and drained them. Sheppard's eyes widened in alarm as he looked into the cup, then darted toward the back of the room.

"Drink," the older man encouraged even as he narrowed eyes in the Colonel's direction, "the elixir will ease your crossing."

"How? How will it ease our crossing?" Of course I had a pretty good idea how and so did Sheppard seeing as he was in a corner trying to make himself throw up.

"It will stop our hearts within the half hour," he told me simply.

My eyes slid instantly to Sheppard who was retching behind me. "How much do you have to drink for that to happen?"

"A few drops will kill although it takes longer than a full glass," he explained, the confusion obvious in his voice.

Shoving my own untouched drink back in the man's hand, I moved quickly to Sheppard's side and placed a hand on his back, trying to avoid stepping in the mess at his feet. "We need to get you back to Carson now."

He nodded as he gulped air and I keyed my radio. "Ronon, can you get us out of the throne room?"

"I can," he told us succinctly.

"Without being taken down yourself?" When there was a slight pause before the affirmative answer, Sheppard continued. "Don't shit with me here. I'm not going to be at full operating condition here soon."

"I could do it, but there would be civilian casualties…. a lot of civilian casualties."

"Negative. We don't want innocent people hurt."

Before Ronon or I could argue, the Advisor approached us, pushing two more glasses our way. "You really should drink this. The tomb itself will kill you if you do not and this is a much more… pleasant way to cross over."

With the same insistence, I pushed the poison back. "You people are absolutely nuts, you know that?" With a shake of my head I mumbled to Sheppard, "For God's sake, they're worse than the planet of suicidal kids."

Sheppard straightened and forced a pleasant smile that was ruined by his somewhat green complexion. "What Dr. McKay is trying to convey in his own particularly offensive way is that we don't practice poisoning where we come from. It goes against our beliefs."

"Yes, death by beverage is frowned upon by our people."

"But the tomb…" he started but the Colonel cut him off.

"We'll take our chances. We've respected your customs; we'd ask that you do the same with ours."

The older man swayed where he stood, the poison obviously already taking effect, so that we both put out a hand to steady him. "Very well, it is your choice. We must go to the tomb now, the journey is near and our loved ones will be waiting for us there."

"Loved ones?" Sheppard perked up at that. "You mean people can see us?"

"Yes, they are already there making ready the tomb and will be there to prepare our bodies for the release of our spirits when the time comes."

"And we can have one of our people there, too?" I asked following exactly where my teammate was going with this.

"Yes, that would be appropriate."

"Ronon, have someone show you to the tomb," Sheppard ordered across the radio. "You evidently get to come down and say goodbye."

"On my way."

And after Ronon's dismissal, we were on our way as well. Sheppard had been right, there was a door behind the curtain, and we followed along behind the others as they drunkenly carried the body on a stretcher down the hallway to a transporter that spit us out deep in the bowels of the city. I kept a wary eye on Sheppard, looking for any sign of the same symptoms the others were suffering. He swayed slightly but pulled from my hand when I put it on his arm to stabilize him.

"I'm fine, McKay."

"You're poisoned, that's about as far from fine as I can think of right now."

"We have time," he told me gruffly. But how much time? A few hours, maybe, if that. By the looks of those that had drunk the poison, I thought their half hour diagnosis was probably optimistic. And that brought up a whole different issue that had been nagging at me since the Advisor had brought it up.

"How do you think the tomb will kill us?" I wondered out loud. "Asphyxiation, poison gas, snakes, what?"

"It's not going to kill us, Rodney," he mumbled so that only I could hear, "because you're going to get us out and Ronon's going to make sure we get back to the gate."

The funeral procession stopped in front of a large door similar to the one leading into the Jumper bay on Atlantis. One of the guards activated it open and I smiled to myself. It was controlled by Ancient technology which meant there was a good chance I could override anything that was on the other side or Radek could when he arrived.

Sheppard leaned in and asked quietly, "Are there Jumpers in there?"

God, if only. But as we stepped in and found the room empty except for a large platform near the far wall and a few family members carrying armloads of flowers, including Queba, we both realized that wasn't the case.

"That's the only door," Sheppard pointed out as the dying joined the mourning and we hung back.

I assured him in a low whisper, "There's a control panel in here, I can open it again when everyone is gone."

Ronon jogged in then and stalked over to where we stood. "What's the plan?"

"When everyone else leaves, Rodney's going to open the door and get us out. You need to make sure the coast is clear."

Ronon nodded in understanding and Queba joined us with a confused look on her face. "Saffos says you refused the drink, Dr. McKay, and that you, Colonel Sheppard, did not drink enough to join the others at the same time."

"Drink?" Ronon's eyebrows curved suspiciously. "What drink?"

"Poison," I explained, "to speed thing along because evidently the Victavan spirit world is just such a hoot that they don't want to waste any time getting there."

"We prefer to face our deaths with our eyes open," Sheppard told her with a macabre grin.

"Are you sure? Once the walls begin moving we cannot bring you more."

"Walls? Moving?" I looked around frantically. "What walls are moving?"

She indicated the black wall behind us, her eyes alight with the gleam of a true zealot. "The wall will move and push you into the afterlife."

Why the hell would the walls move? Then I started putting two and two together and realized where we were and what the room was probably used for. My eyes skimmed from the wall, across the door to the access panel beside it. Three meters, tops. Depending on how fast the Ancients liked to smash their trash, that didn't leave a lot of time. Great. Sheppard poisoned, the two of us stuck in a garbage disposal and if that wasn't bad enough, I only had a few minutes to get us out. Could this whole predicament get any worse? Sneezing suddenly, I sniffled.

Evidently it could.

XXXXX

"The next crystal has a circle, two dots in the center and a swoop underneath."

"A smiley face?" I asked after Ronon's description.

"It doesn't look too happy."

"Join the club." After four more crystals, we still hadn't found the one we needed and the wall just kept getting closer. "That's not it. Try the next one."

"Okay, how do we stop the flames, McKay?"

At Sheppard's question I blinked through my irritation that was quickly turning into panic. "What?"

"How do we keep from turning into crispy critters here?"

"Right." I pushed down the fear and frustration and tried to occupy my mind with facts instead, trying to work through the problem. "Okay, fire needs three components: fuel, oxygen, and ignition." Splashing my foot in the puddle of liquid on the floor I observed, "We have the fuel and I don't think we can get rid of that, we have the oxygen and we don't _want_ to get rid of that since we kind of need it to breath, so that means we need to stop the ignition from taking place." Looking around the room I ordered, "See if you can find where that might come from. Anything that might cause a spark or shoot flames or produce excessive heat." We both moved to survey the walls and the ceiling for any source of ignition. "Anything?" I asked Sheppard after going through two more crystals with Ronon.

"Nothing," he answered then hitched his head toward the corpses. "Unless it's under them."

"Oh, God," I mumbled weakly, knowing what was coming next.

"Help me move the bodies." And there it was.

"Oh, this is just wrong," I told him even as I grimaced and helped him roll the body of one of the guards out of the way.

"What's wrong is killing innocent people just because they happened to be in the same room with you when you died." He scanned the floor under the body, running his hand along the surface to make sure he didn't miss anything.

"I know. It just feels like we're desecrating the dead or something, tossing them around like this." I haphazardly flung the flowers that had fallen off back onto the body, wiping yellow-green pollen wet with the fuel on my pants and sneezing once again.

"Rodney, in less than five minutes, that wall is going to stop moving on its own and the incineration sequence is going to begin again. I find being burnt alive a desecration all its own." We moved to the next body and moved it out of the way, as well, even as I rejected yet another crystal that Ronon had described.

"You know the Vikings did this exact same thing." We were heaving the body of the Advisor out of the way and he was a rather large man, giving new meaning to the term dead weight. "Loaded up the deceased king in a boat, drugged the members of his household and tossed them onboard, too, then lit them up like a floating bon fire."

"Don't see you wearing your winged helm today, McKay."

With a grunt, we finally got the big guy moving. "Last time I had feathers on the side of my head was 1984 at the height of the age of hair bands and masculine hair care products."

"Ah, the eighties, when you knew you had reached manhood when you finally found a use for hairspray that didn't involve making homemade flame throwers to melt plastic army men in the driveway."

"Hey, if it was a good enough look for Luke Skywalker and Han Solo, then it was good enough for Rodney McKay."

Sheppard chuckled then put his hand out to steady himself against the altar before wobbling further and dropping from a squat to his butt and slumping into the slab. Both of our grins disappeared as he hung his head and ran a shaky hand through his sweaty hair.

"John?" I asked worriedly, only half hearing Ronon's voice in my ear telling me about the next crystal. "Not that one," I answered the Satedan distractedly before calling Sheppard's name again. I slid my eyes toward the wall still creeping forward, eating steadily away at the uncharred floor between us and it. We needed to get out of here. He didn't have much time. Hell, _we_ didn't have much time. And for a split second, I thought maybe the Victavans had been right when they insisted we kill ourselves before. A part of me secretly wished for the poison myself. Another part wished it would work faster for Sheppard. But another part, the really selfish part, didn't want to do this alone. Reaching out and touching his leg when I still didn't get an answer, he jumped as if he didn't even remember I was there.

"Sorry, just feeling a little woozy." He shook his head sharply to clear the fog before repeating quietly, "Sorry." And this time it had nothing to do with the effects of the poison on his attention span.

"Sheppard, this isn't your fault. Not really. Although somewhere out there, I have no doubt, is a really pissed off voodoo priestess sticking pins in a spiky-haired G.I. Joe doll and that probably does have something to do with you. But past sins aside, this is purely a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But then again, we never seem to be at the right place at the right time and as soon as we get back to Atlantis we're really rearranging your room to meet the principles of feng shui. Evidently Johnny Cash should be facing north or something."

"Rodney," he cut off my nervous rambling as he lifted his head to reveal a smear of black across his face. "You really suck at the whole comfort thing."

Ignoring his statement of the blatantly obvious, I instead squinted curiously at the smudge on his face. "What is…" I started, before taking his hand and turning it over to see soot staining his palm. With eyes widening in hope, I touched the blackened and evidently scorched altar. "It's survived the fires."

"What are you talking about?"

Tapping the platform with my knuckles, I was rewarded with an echoing reverberation. "It's survived the fires and it's hollow."

Understanding spread with the smile on his face as he clamped a hand on my forearm. "Help me up."

"Sheppard?" Ronon called to his team leader when I didn't answer him.

"Stand by," Sheppard ordered as I hauled him up and gripped his arm to keep him from toppling over. Without having to say a word, we worked together to push Mynorine's remains off the stand. We then tried to lift the top off to no avail.

"Look for a switch or something to open it," I instructed as I slid my own hands under the overhanging top.

"Do you think we could survive the fire inside here?" Sheppard asked as he searched the side opposite from me.

"Probably not. The heat alone will probably kill us depending on how conductive the metal is and if there is any insulation lining the inside. And then the fire will consume most of the oxygen in the room. But we stand a better chance in there as opposed to our here where we know we won't survive."

"Near impossible odds versus no chance in hell," he considered. "Sounds good to me."

"Bingo!" I exclaimed as I found a lever and the lid rose straight up on thin supports located in each corner and came to rest about three quarters of a meter in the air.

We both looked inside the box and what had seemed like a brilliant idea suddenly seemed rather repulsive. I winced at the macabre image inside. Blackened charred bones and ash filled the box over halfway to the top. The fires evidently didn't burn hot enough to completely cremate the bodies, but it was close, so that even though the skeletal remains weren't intact, we could make out distinct bones within the pile.

Sheppard shrugged and forced a weak consolatory grin. "Well, I guess we know what happened to the remains of the other dead kings."

TBC


	2. it's another

**tomb** (toom), _noun_, 1. A grave or other place of burial. 2. A vault or chamber for burial of the dead. 3. A monument commemorating the dead.

**Part 2: …it's another.**

Waiting for people to die. Not exactly my idea of a fun time. Especially when one of them was my best friend. The Victavans seemed to be taking it all in stride, though. They may not have been laughing and joking, but they weren't wailing and lamenting either. The friends and family of Mynorine moved into what appeared to be their assigned positions, lay on the floor with a loved one nearby and passed the time by chatting or singing softly or giving final advice before they too joined the dead king already covered with flowers above them… flowers that were wreaking havoc with my allergies.

"Okay, this is freakier than hell," Sheppard mumbled from where he stood between me and Ronon watching the deathwatch before us.

"I don't get it," Ronon admitted with a shake of dredded head. "I spent years doing everything I could to survive. On one world, I ate nothing but bugs and lizards for twenty-three days just to stay alive. And these people simply lie down and die because their leader did."

Sheppard raised questioning eyebrows in mock-surprise at the warrior. "That mean you aren't going to do the same for me if McKay and I don't make it out of this."

A smirk curved through the wiry hair of his beard. "I'll take good care of your skateboard, Sheppard."

"What about Rodney here?" Sheppard slapped my shoulder good-naturedly as I sneezed and flashed a grin of his own, but when he left his hand there and his weight increased I realized what he was doing…using me as a human crutch so Ronon wouldn't know how the poison was already affecting him. If Ronon thought he wasn't going to make it out of the tomb, he'd start shooting and pending skateboard ownership be damned.

With a shrug Ronon confessed, "McKay doesn't have anything worth taking. Not unless I want a picture of him or his pet animal."

"Fine, I bequeath you the science staff. Just make sure you feed and water them daily and groom them regularly or their coats get matted." Sniffing with a droll once-over of his person, I amended, "Then again, you would probably promote that."

"Easy, McKay, I don't want to escape only to have Ronon shoot you once we get out."

My stinging comeback withered on my lips when I noticed a line of sweat running down Sheppard's ashen face. The room was in the basement of the building and the air was cool and damp. Definitely not warm enough to be sweating when we were just standing around. "Well, if I'm gong to have to outrun Ronon, I better rest up," I grumped to cover my concern. "I'm going to sit. Anyone care to join me?"

At my invitation, Sheppard gave me a look with thank you written all over it. After asking Ronon to see what he could find out about the protocol after the tomb was sealed, he followed me to where I slid down the sidewall to sit. "I don't think rest is going to help you much, Rodney."

And if the others didn't hurry up and die, there wasn't going to be much to help John. He was living on borrowed time here and every minute these people lingered on was one less minute we could use to get out of the tomb and get back to Atlantis and have Carson come up with an antidote. Those were a hell of a lot of ands in that plan, each one eating up a little more of his remaining life.

"I agree. Resting is the last thing we need to be doing now. All respect for the dead and dying aside, let's get this show on the road."

"Patience, Grasshopper."

"Thank you, Master Po, I'll take that under advisement. But unless you can go into a Zen trance that is going to slow that poison coursing through your system right now, we need to speed things along here."

Glancing over to make sure Ronon was occupied with Queba, I observed, "It's already affecting you, isn't it?"

He shrugged noncommittally, "I've felt better."

"Yeah, but have you felt worse?"

Closing his eyes and rolling his neck he admitted, "A few times."

Leaning my head back against the wall I closed my own eyes that were about to itch right out their sockets. "God, I hate this. I hate those miserable flowers, I hate being stuck here in this room with those miserable flowers, but more than that, I hate being in a room with a dead guy and I hate waiting for the others to die. When my grandfather died we did this… sat around waiting for him to take his last breath for three days. Doesn't that just strike you as ghoulishly morbid? To sit and know that at any moment the person is going to die and all you can do is wait for it to happen? After a while I stopped dreading it and started to wish it would just be done and over with. I mean it was inevitable, nothing we could do." Opening my eyes again, I saw my companion staring at the people in the back. "Sheppard?"

"At least it looks like it's a peaceful way to go. No screaming in anguish or pain or blood or your insides on the outside or withering to a husk or…" He swallowed and shook his head. "At least it's peaceful."

How many people had he seen die? From the way family members were placing flowers over two of the bodies, I'd say that number had just increased. The number we had witnessed since coming to Pegasus alone boggled my mind and given his time in the Air Force, his time in Afghanistan, what little he had told me…pieces that when put together formed such a grotesque image that it was no wonder he kept them scattered and the puzzle securely boxed away. And now to be watching people dying once more and know that unless the conditions changed quickly, he was next. But then again, how many times had he been in that situation, as well? Evidently quiet a few if he was finding comfort in the fact that at least it was a peaceful way to go.

Of course, I wasn't finding it reassuring at all, especially considering I was the reason he was contemplating a serene end in the first place. "Oh, fuck. I shouldn't have been talking about that whole thing with my grandfather. And if I hadn't been worried about the citrus in the first place…"

"Hey, if anyone is going to be out of commission in this situation, better me than you. This mission is now officially a brains operation, at least until we can get outside the room."

"Still, how ironic will it be if I was worried about dying of anaphylactic shock from the drink and instead you end up dy…" At his say-it-and-you-won't-have-to-worry-about-moving-walls look I amended what I was going to say. "Deeeeciding that I'm the best man for the job when it comes to saving your sorry ass."

"Tag, you're it," he grinned.

"I'll get us out of this," I promised.

"When have I ever doubted you, McKay?"

I started ticking off examples on my fingers. "Well, there was the time with the weapons system and then the…"

A slap to my shoulder stopped me. "This is a pep talk, Rodney, not a mission review."

"Right. Got it." I raised duplicate thumbs in agreement. "You're behind me one hundred percent."

Ronon came back and squatted before us. "It looks like things are wrapping up here. Queba says that once the bodies are prepared, everyone leaves and goes back up to the throne room to cleanse it. Then when the tomb is finished doing its thing she'll be crowned Supreme Leader. Evidently they only leave a few guards down here to monitor the tomb and let them know when it's finished. She's agreed to let me stay outside, too, in honor of our customs."

"Which customs are those?" I asked curiously.

"The ones I made up so I could stay."

"Oh, good thinking," I conceded to the Satedan.

"Keep that pistol of yours on stun," Sheppard admonished. "I don't want anyone killed if we can help it."

Ronon nodded his understanding then we all stood when Queba arrived. "It is done." She wiped a stray tear then straightened resolutely. "My family will now go to join the Supreme Leaders of our past. Are you sure you will not change your mind and drink and join them? We can wait if you like."

"No, no more waiting," I insisted. "The sooner the better, unless of course, you've changed your mind and will let us go back to our world."

She smiled, a little psychotically in my book. "You will thank me when I join you after my own journey in years to come."

"But we're not even Victavan," the Colonel reasoned. "Will they even let us into your afterlife?"

"All are welcome, just as all must go. And you are especially honored to be allowed to travel with my father. And I cannot believe someone that Teyla speaks of so highly would deny my family their rightful place by refusing the trip."

Raising my hand I volunteered, "I would." At Queba's frown, Sheppard elbowed me. "All I'm saying is that when the potential exists that your guests could be expected to die just because their host does, the responsible thing to do would be to explain that, not offer snacks."

Queba chin rose defensively. "Very well, if you do not wish for the drink we will leave you now to crossover. Good journey," she offered tightly before departing the room in a huff followed by the others.

Ronon was the last to go. "I'll be waiting outside," he told us then exited through the door, as well, leaving us alone with the dead bodies. The door slid shut and it was suddenly very quiet, hence the saying quiet as a tomb I supposed. Of course that didn't last long.

Sheppard backhanded my shoulder. "Why do you feel the need to piss off every single person you come in contact with?"

"Oh, gee, I'm sorry. Did I hurt the feelings of the pretty woman that condemned us to death? Wherever are my manners?" And then I sneezed on him.

"And cut it the hell out with the sneezing." He looked down at his vest in disgust.

"You cut it the hell out with the sweating and swaying and dying before my eyes."

"I'm doing my best!"

"Well, so am I!"

There was a mechanical whirring and we forgot the argument as both sets of our eyes turned to the wall behind us. With the distinct sound of gears locking into place the wall started moving just as Ronon called quietly across the radio. "Queba just activated the wall."

"Yeah, we know," Sheppard told him.

"She and the others are leaving now. I'll take out the guards when they're out of earshot."

"Copy that," the Colonel acknowledged even as he came up behind where I already stood trying to open the rusted access panel. "Time to get to work, Rodney."

But by then I had my Leatherman out trying to pry the panel open and I was already thinking to myself, how the hell did we end up in these situations?

XXXXX

"I'm not getting in there with those!"

At my declaration, Sheppard just shook his head as he leaned heavily against the ash and bone-filled altar. "Well, they're not coming out and you're not staying out here."

"Those are human remains!" My finger jabbed insistently in the container. "For all intents and purposes, this is an oversized coffin."

"Technically, Rodney, it's more like an urn, but I'm willing to skip the specifics if you are."

"Sheppard, this is every claustrophobe's nightmare."

Now it was his turn to point adamantly. "Do you see that wall? In about thirty seconds it's going to stop moving and we both know what's going to happen then. Get your ass in the goddamn box, McKay!"

With a frustrated growl I pushed at his shoulder, urging him into the receptacle and helping him when he had trouble swinging a leg in. "The next time you want to flirt with a space bimbo, make sure I'm nowhere in the vicinity." He rolled to the far side and I did my damnedest to ignore the sound of cracking bones before climbing in myself.

"The next time you're worried about an allergic reaction, make sure there's not something worse than lemon juice in the drink."

There was just enough room for the two of us to lay side by side, his head at my feet. Reaching a hand out, I activated the controls and the lid started to close, just as the wall locked into place with an echoing kathunk. "Believe me, this is worse than lemon juice," I assured him as the flammable liquid resumed its flow seconds before the lid sealed shut and we were swallowed in total blackness. The shower of fuel pounded loudly on our metal refuge, filling the small space with sound and making it even more suffocating. I could barely hear Sheppard filling Ronon in on what we were doing through the din.

You're outside, I repeated mentally. You're outside laying in a wide-open meadow…a wide-open meadow…cool breeze, fluffy clouds, bright sun… a wide-open meadow… that just happens to have large sticks and twigs that are remarkably femur-shaped eating into your back.

Oh, Christ.

"How're you doing, Rodney?"

I lifted my head slightly to respond to the voice at my feet. "Just fucking peachy, how about you?"

Ignoring my outburst, he patted my shin. "Doing your visualization exercises?"

"Yes, I'm visualizing myself in a wide-open field, a cool breeze blowing across soft green grass, and I'm beating the living shit out of you with one of the _sticks_ I'm laying on!"

"Sticks, huh?" The hand on my leg squeezed reassuringly. "Is it helping?"

"What do you think?" I snapped then drew a stuttering breath when the pounding of the liquid fuel on the lid stopped and was quickly replaced by the pounding of blood in my ears. We both knew what was coming next and the reassurance of Sheppard's grip on my leg tightened into desperation.

"Here we go," he informed me needlessly and I realized I was fisting the material of his pant leg, as well.

There was a whoosh as the initial ignition took place, the sound echoing up and over us before settling into a dull but steady roar as the blaze caught hold. By the sudden pressure in my ears brought on by the immediate expansion of superheated air outside the box, I knew we were surrounded by flames. We were trapped in a box…with dead people… in a fucking inferno. Suddenly my wide-open field was engulfed in a wildfire and that's when visualization exercises went right out the proverbial window… because a real one didn't exist and we were trapped waiting to die in a burial urn while an all-consuming firestorm raged just outside. And just what the fuck was up with that?

I couldn't breathe. The fire was expending all the oxygen and as much as the tiny rational part of my brain was saying it couldn't happen this fast, the full blown panic mode of the irrational part said the hell with what should be happening you're running out of air. What miniscule amount we had in this goddamned coffin to begin with. I couldn't fucking breathe!

"Rodney!" Sheppard's repeated calling of my name finally cut through my thoughts but didn't stop them.

"John, we have to get out! We're going to die in here if we don't get out!" Sheppard called my name again but I ignored him, opting instead to start pushing at the top. The lid was warm to the touch but didn't budging. And that's when I realized something else. "We can't get out! The…the…the control! It's outside! Oh, fuck me, we're locked inside!" I started banging even harder.

"Rodney! Goddamn it, listen to me! I have something important that I need to ask you, so you need to listen."

Returning my hand to gripping his leg I sucked in a few quick and shallow breaths of what I was convinced was our dwindling air supply. "What is it?" Maybe he would have an idea, something I could use to come up with a way to get us out of here.

"How many physicists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"What?" We were going to burn to death in a box and he was telling jokes? Banging uselessly against the lid was more productive than that. "You're certifiable, you know that?" But before my fist could return to its futile efforts, his own hand trapped my wrist.

"How many physicists does it take to change a light bulb?" he reiterated calmly.

Panting miserably, I whimpered, "Christ, Sheppard, I don't know."

"Eleven. One to do it and ten to co-author the paper." I could almost picture the smirk on his face. "Kavanagh told me that," he informed me smugly.

Kavanagh… probably the most overrated addition to the scientific field ever to travel from one galaxy to the next, and evidently a waste to the world of humor, as well. "Oh, yeah, well, how many Air Force pilots does it take to change a light bulb?" I challenged hysterically. "Just one. He holds the bulb, and the world revolves around him. _Lorne_ told me that."

"Leave it to a jar head," he snorted, "Pilots don't change light bulbs; that's what the flight crew's for."

"I'll be sure to tell Radek that one." I took a breath of warm air and swallowed around my barely contained fear. "It's getting warmer in here."

"How many general relativists does it take to change a light bulb?" It was definitely getting warmer, no doubt about it. When I ignored the question, he provided the answer anyway. "Two. One holds the bulb while the other rotates the universe." A wide-open ice field, I thought frantically. I'm on a wide-open ice field like the ones in Antarctica and I'm wearing an asbestos-lined parka. "Rodney?" Sheppard called when I still didn't respond, squeezing my wrist to regain my attention.

"Uhm…" We were in this together. We were in this together on a wide-open ice field. And as long as I clung to that as tightly as I did the fabric of his pants, I might be okay. "What do Air Force pilots use for birth control?"

"They try to pick up women while their physicist best friend… is standing next to them?" A boot toe knocked lightly into my temple.

"Asshole. You just proved my punch line; it's their personalities."

"Oh, so physicists and pilots… have something in common… after all."

"You mean besides roasting alive in a corpse-filled toaster oven?" Outside, the sound of the fire only grew and so did the temperature. Sheppard wasn't the only one sweating now and I wasn't the only one fighting to regulate my breathing. He was struggling, dragging in the breaths with audible effort. "Sheppard, what's going on?"

He didn't answer, just proceeded on to his next joke. "How many… astronomers… does it take… to change… a light bulb?" I shook my head in amazement that he was still doing this even though he could barely breathe. We were going to die and his last words were going to be a bad insult joke.

"None," an accented voice answered him across the radio. "Astronomers, they prefer the dark. Or at least they prefer to remain in dark about latest scientific advancements. Rodney is living proof of this."

"Radek," I exhaled in relief, "what the hell took you so long?"

"Only pilot we could find for Jumper drives like little old Baba behind wheel of huge Cadillac."

"I got us all here in one piece, didn't I?" Carson defended.

"Yes, year older but in one piece."

"Can we… discuss this later?" Sheppard cut into their argument. "It's getting hot in here… and I'm running out of… stand-up material."

"Colonel, are you all right?" And based on Carson's question, I wasn't the only one that heard the laboring in his speech.

"It's the poison, Carson." I explained shortly. "It's starting to impact his breathing."

"Poison?"

"Not now, Carson, we have to get out of here first. Radek, you need to activate the fire suppression system."

"Oh, you think that is best idea, Rodney?" The sarcasm in his voice was tightly wound and I could tell he was working intently on doing just that. "How many engineers does it take to put out fire? One. But he must wear earplugs to block out incessant chattering of physicist while he does so."

"I want to know about this poison," Carson interjected again.

"Well…it doesn't have… citrus in it."

I frowned at Sheppard, even though he couldn't see me. "What's the difference between an Air Force pilot and a jet engine? The jet engine stops whining when the plane shuts down. Ronon, will you please fill in Carson before he starts birthing lambs in the corridor."

"And…viola! One fire to be extinguished, if you please." Along with Radek's boast came the sound of fire retardant dousing the flames with a satisfying hiss.

For once I was more than happy to allow him his gloating. "Radek, I am personally going to sign you up for the porn-of-the-month club as soon as we get back to Atlantis."

"Tsk. And I just renewed myself." Another sound of gears engaging muffled by the box and I knew the wall was moving again. "Give me one moment, Rodney, and I will have you out."

And then there was silence. The radio, the fire, and John. "Sheppard?" His hand still rested on mine but it was slack. Oh, fuck. "Sheppard!" I elbowed him hard in the leg.

At my jarring, he dragged in another breath. "Sorry. Was just… peaceful."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Sheppard." I gripped his hand in the dark; shaking it hard as if that would keep him awake, keep him breathing. "You don't want peaceful, okay? Peaceful's dull. Peaceful isn't Atlantis, it isn't what you do, it isn't what we do."

I wasn't sure if I found the weak snort reassuring or not. "That's for sure… never a moment's peace…around you…McKay."

"But that's the way you like it, right? What's the point of saving the universe day in and day out if you had to do it with someone that was calm and tranquil? Might as well have stayed and meditated in the time dilation field with the Ancient wannabes if that was the case."

The snort was even weaker this time. "They ascended."

"But you didn't. Didn't want to leave all this fun and excitement behind."

"True."

"Don't want to leave it now, either, do you?" My throat constricted with the pause before his answer.

"Tired… Rodney."

Squeezing his hand, I gave it another shake. "Lazy piece of shit. Leave it to the scientists to do all the work around here while you lay around on a bed of skeletal remains. What the hell kind of thing is that to put on a tombstone? Here lies John Sheppard… and a bunch of other corpses he used as a mattress. Not exactly stirring and patriotic if you ask me."

"Thought we… were in… a field."

"No, we're in a box, John." I swallowed around the quake in my voice. "And don't you dare leave me alone in a fucking box with one more dead guy than I climbed in with."

He exhaled a long breath…aggrieved, exhausted, frustrated, resigned… and for a heart-stopping moment I feared it was his last. "I'm trying," he assured me.

"Try harder." Because there was no way in hell I could climb out of this coffin and leave him behind.

"Rodney, we are in the room," Radek informed us across the radio.

"Then get us out of here so Carson can fix Colonel Sheppard." A minute later after telling them where the controls were located, the lid started to rise and three concerned faces peered into the box.

"Carson, over here," I directed so he could get to Sheppard on the other side.

He moved quickly, pulling away with a hiss when he touched the still superheated metal. Ronon shed his leather coat and draped it over the side so Carson could get closer. "Colonel Sheppard, can you hear me, lad?"

"Hey…Doc," he slurred weakly when the physician took his wrist to measure his pulse then pulled the ever present penlight and checked his pupils.

"Rodney, you are okay?" Radek's question of me drew my attention away from the examination I was watching and I nodded my response.

"Just get Sheppard out." I winced against the lingering smell of lighter fluid mixed with burning flesh that wafted in now that the lid was open.

Carson's mouth tightened as he finished his cursory exam. "Aye, we need to get the Colonel back to Atlantis immediately."

Between the four of us, we were able to work Sheppard out then I climbed out behind him, stepping gingerly around the partially burned remains on the floor. Ronon already had Sheppard over his shoulder and I didn't even look back into the room as we walked purposefully out into the hall and past the unconscious guards on the floor. I barely noticed them, my attention instead on the now nonresponsive man being carried before me.

"Rodney, tell me about the symptoms of the others that drank the poison."

I jumped at Carson's request before shaking my head to concentrate and tell him, "They, uh, they appeared to be drunk…staggering, slurring their speech… then they started acting like Sheppard… trouble breathing, sweating, then they just seemed to go to sleep and…" I shook my head again then asked, "Can you fix this?"

His hand rested on my shoulder as we walked. "I'm hoping it's not so much poisoning per se as an overdose of a drug. Perhaps a narcotic or barbiturate, but I'll need to run some blood tests to make sure."

"But can you fix it?" I asked once again.

"God willing. I'm going to do everything in my power. But the sooner we know exactly what we're up against here, the better his chances."

Nodding silently in understanding we rounded a corner and moved into the transporter to the surface level. When we exited, we were met by Teyla, Elizabeth, and Queba followed by the same entourage that had escorted her from the room when her father had died and several of the royal guard.

"Just what is happening here?" the new Supreme Leader of Victav demanded when she saw me and Sheppard still very much in the present world.

"Queba, you must understand that we cannot allow our people…" Elizabeth started but was cut off by the infuriated young woman glowering at me.

"Your people have just condemned the spirits of my family. They will wander the in between world until Lt. Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay join them."

"Perhaps there is something that can be done," Teyla offered, "a ceremony of some sort."

"There is no ceremony. There is nothing but damnation and a curse on my reign as Supreme Leader if they do not return to the tomb immediately."

The two women on my team continued to try to reason with the irrational one who was growing angrier by the second. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Carson's brow furrow deeply as he checked Sheppard once again. And that's when I decided diplomacy wasn't going to get us anywhere.

"They didn't want us," I interjected loudly. "Told us to get the hell out and sent us back."

"What?" Queba blinked in surprise. "What do you mean they didn't want you? All are welcome and all must…"

"Yes, yes, so I heard. But evidently we're not allowed. We crossed-over, saw the place, very nice as you said, we were just getting settled in when they booted us out. Evidently they just didn't like us."

"But that has never happened before. All are welcome," she insisted once again.

"I'm often the exception to any rule," I assured her then added. "Besides, how did we come out of the tomb alive if there was any other explanation? You told us yourself that the tomb would kill us even if we didn't drink the poison." Without waiting for an answer, I motioned the others forward only to be stopped by the guards.

"Colonel Sheppard does not appear to be alive," she countered bluntly.

I bit back my retort that he wasn't dead but would be soon enough if she kept up this ridiculous babbling. Instead I expanded on my lie. "Actually, they liked him. They offered to let him stay. The Ancients always have been fond of him for some reason. But seeing as he refused to stay if I couldn't, they kicked him out, as well. This is just a little bit of the residual…deadness hanging on. It should wear off soon."

Her face softened in awe. "You saw the Ancestors?"

"Oh, yes, they were there." I did my best to look her in the eye and maintain a straight face. When she looked to me expectantly to continue, I wracked my brain for a description of Victavan paradise. "They were all glowy and there was… hugging and flowers and… cake. Lots of food. LOTS of food. Couldn't get you dad away from the spinach dip."

"Rodney," Elizabeth warned with a meaningful lift of her eyebrows.

Clearing my throat I concluded, "Yes, the Ancestors were there and your family was very happy."

Dark eyes darted between me and Sheppard as Queba bit her lower lip in consideration. Evidently the thought that John was welcome and I wasn't was a little more believable and I couldn't have cared less about the insult in that. If it got us the heck out of Dodge and back to the infirmary on Atlantis, then she could think anything she wanted about me. "And my family was allowed to remain on the other side? They did not have to return, as well?"

"They were allowed to stay," I assured her.

She wavered then shook her head. "This is highly unusual. Never have I heard of such a thing. I should consult my advisors."

"Look, do you really think it's a good idea to have us hang around if we weren't welcome in the land of the dead? I can't imagine it would bode well with your living subjects." I hitched my head to the growing number of people milling around behind her, murmuring and pointing at us.

One of the older men standing behind her whispered something in her ear and her eyes widened in realization. Straightening, she proclaimed loudly. "The Supreme Leaders of our past have spoken. You have been banned from the journey and now you shall be banished from our world, as well. You must leave Victav and never return."

"Thank you," I rose my eyes to the heavens above with an exaggerated expression of relief. "It's about fucking time." Then without waiting for anything more I led the others as the Victavan people melted away before us to reveal a path to the front door.

We had originally traveled from the gate to the village by foot, Teyla indicating that the walk was not far…evidently that assessment was relative to the Boston marathon…and that the people of the village might be startled by the Jumper and fear a Wraith attack. Fortunately, she had decided that the need for haste outweighed any of her previous concerns when she brought the others back from Atlantis so that we had a Jumper parked just on the outskirts of the settlement.

"Rodney, fly," Carson ordered tensely as we enter the craft.

I nodded my understanding, moving quickly to the pilot's seat even as he started barking commands at the others. Of course, for Carson, barking meant giving instructions in a clipped, quiet voice followed by an endearment. "Ronon, set him down here, lad. Radek, fetch my field kit for me, please. I need an intubation tube. Teyla, love, I need you to operate the ambu-bag while I get an I.V. started. Elizabeth, be a dear and hold this saline bag. No, a little higher. Aye, that's a good lass."

And me, I did as directed and flew the Jumper, casting furtive glances over my shoulder to see what was happening even though that really wasn't necessary based on what I was hearing. He wasn't breathing on his own, his pulse was thready and he was exhibiting symptoms of shock. All and all a pretty shitty way to be. He was dying on the floor of the goddamn Jumper and the fact that given a choice between here and an Ancient trash incinerator he would choose his beloved spacecraft hands down really wasn't much of a comfort right then.

Flying the Jumper was… well, it was pretty much the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. It wasn't like flying an airplane. Not that I had ever done that, but there were laws of physics that applied in that case. Aerodynamics, lift, rudder and flap controls, I could explain all those with a series of mathematical equations and an engineering line diagram. But the Jumpers defied most everything I had learned in mechanical engineering. Metal boxes don't fly. They don't lift straight up off the ground as though gravity were nothing more than an old wives' tale and they sure as hell don't do it because you told it to do so with nothing more than a thought and a touch.

But as much as I loved flying them, it was work for me. Not that I would ever admit that out loud, but it was. Maybe it was because there was some part of my subconscious that was telling the ship it shouldn't be doing what it was doing. Maybe it was because my mind usually did twenty things and once. Maybe it was because of my artificial gene. Whatever the reason, it took concentration. It took effort. It took work. But Sheppard did it as if it were a passing thought for him. From the moment I showed him the hangar that first week on Atlantis, the ships seemed to know exactly what he wanted from them and eager to give it. No one could fly like Sheppard. No one could do a lot of things like Sheppard. And looking back at the small band of people huddled around him on the floor, I wasn't the only one that thought so. There were very few people that could convince me that there was more to life than science, that Ancient devices could be fun as well as enlightening, that a city on the far side of the universe could feel more like home than my hometown ever had, and that blood had very little to do with brotherhood and kinship. And every one of them was in the craft I was piloting at that very moment and we were all doing everything in our power to make sure that the number of members in our little family didn't diminish by one. And that, that was…

I take it back; flying the Jumper is the second most amazing thing I've ever experienced.

"Atlantis, this is Jumper One, requesting permission to return to base and emergency medical support upon docking."

The gate tech on duty cleared us through and Carson was on the radio to his staff before we had settled into the hangar. They had John on a gurney and moving down the hall in mere minutes, those of us not medically trained trailing along in their wake and left like so much flotsam and jetsam to drift into chairs in the waiting area and…wait. And wait. And wait some more.

Waiting for a person to die. Not exactly my idea of a fun time. Especially when it was my best friend. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself that wasn't what he was doing, it was damn hard not to believe it. Carson confirmed his suspicions through blood tests; it was a drug, not one he could identify but very close to the barbiturate family. And after babbling on about lipid solubility and protein binding and medicinal half-lives, he summed it up as being in the equivalent of a medically induced coma, similar to the one he himself had put Sheppard in when the Colonel was going Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Wraith on us. The drug was depressing every system in his body and the course of treatment consisted of symptomatic support until his body flushed it out completely, which is a hell of feat when the drug it's trying to purge is slowing everything down. So the medical team was doing everything they could to help it along. There was gastric lavage and alkinization and one I.V. after another to help move the drug out and talk of hemodialysis when Carson became worried about kidney failure. Then there were the treatments just to keep him alive until his body woke up. Warming blankets to hold off the hypothermia, a ventilator to keep him breathing, fluid therapy for the shock…and monitors beeping slowly and sluggishly and a horrendously flat EEG. But there was no magic antidote, nothing to be injected and he would wake up good as new. And nothing the rest of us could do but sit and wait….and try to believe Carson when he reassured us that he was doing remarkably well, considering.

Considering. We were doing that a lot… considering that Teyla had brought us to the planet in the first place, considering that Ronon hadn't shot our way out as soon as they locked the door to the throne room, considering that I had asked him to drink the damn poison in the first place. Considering that we were all considering what we had done wrong, we were doing remarkably well, too.

Given how close they were watching Sheppard, Carson was reluctant to let any of us stay with him. But when we all refused to leave the waiting area, he relented and let one of us sit by his bed at a time, under the condition that the others left the infirmary all together. It was during Teyla's shift that his EEG finally showed some activity. It was during Ronon's shift that he started responding to pain stimulus.

And almost a day after we had brought him back to Atlantis, it was my turn to sit. But anyone who knows me knows I can't do that, at least not quietly.

"I hope you like yellow, Xiao Ming in geology says you need more of that in your room. It evidently represents health or longevity or he was just yanking my chain so he could get back to his Gameboy, but either way, I was willing to take a chance. And seeing as the only yellow I could find was a giant fuzzy daisy pillow I swiped from Cadman's room… seriously, how does a Marine get to be so girly? I had to improvise and spray paint a couple of chairs from the cafeteria with some Day-Glo survey paint I took from supply. So you might want to invest in something a little less…garish when you wake up.

"Speaking of which, you should probably do that before Carson comes back and pokes your foot with a pin again. I honestly think he enjoys it considering how often he's been doing it. That's probably what he did to his inflatable sheep doll I gave him for Christmas. Sprung a spontaneous leak, my ass. You would think a man that can say 'turn your head and cough' with a straight face would have a sense of humor, not look like he needed to eat some prunes for breakfast every time I mention a gag gift. I'm really starting to wonder if he needs to do all the things that are supposedly necessary to save you or he's just a sadistic son of a bitch as I've always expected.

"Seriously, you've got more tubes and wires and accoutrements attached to you than those monkeys they sent into space back in the fifties. I mean sure, given your brain activity the past day and a half, the astrochimps could probably give you a run for your money on the MENSA test, but I don't think you want to be compared to one of them forever. Do you?"

I sighed at the lack of response and reached over to where his hand rested limply on the bed and took it in mine. Being careful of the I.V. port, I squeezed gently. "I know it looked peaceful with those others, Sheppard, and maybe it's peaceful where you are right now, but it doesn't look peaceful from here. It's stressful and worrisome and scary and everything but peaceful. So if you would just wake up so we could get back to going through the gate and running for our lives and fighting Wraith, that would be better than all the peace and quiet in the world."

Nothing. No response from Sheppard and only the whoosh of the ventilator and the beep of the cardiac monitor. Shifting in my seat I grumbled, "Fine, be that way. See if I care, you lazy bastard. As I always say, if life gives you lemons, use it as an excuse to flirt with the nurses in the ER. Because the comfort card works both ways, you know. And that cute blonde nurse that just came over on the last Daedalus run smiles and squeezes my shoulder every time she comes in. Keep this up and I may have named my first born in your memory by the time you finally wake up."

I froze when I thought I felt a twitch of fingers against mine. When nothing happened again, I continued on cautiously. "John Tiberius McKay. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Or maybe John Euclid McKay…" I sucked in a breath when his hand definitely moved against mine. "Carson!" I stood with my yell and squeezed a little harder on the hand in mine. "Sheppard? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand back if you can." And he did, barely, but he did. "Carson!"

Beckett ran into the room followed by two nurses, his mouth tight with worry until he saw the smile on my face. "Rodney, what's happened?"

"He can hear me. He can hear me and he's squeezing my hand," I told him in quick excitement.

Carson moved to the other side and took Sheppard's other hand. "Colonel, if you can understand me, squeeze my hand."

The pressure increased slightly on my own again and by Carson's smile I knew it had done the same with his. "This is good, right?" I demanded, desperately needing the reassurance. "This is a good sign?"

"Aye, Rodney, 'tis a very good sign," he beamed back before launching into a frenzy of activity with his team.

And he was right, it was a good sign. Sheppard made steady progress after that. He was breathing on his own by nightfall. Opening glazed eyes before midnight and putting together a few words by morning. Granted, the conversations weren't exactly going down in the annals of great intellectual conversations of the twenty-first century. In fact, I'd had more intelligent dialogues in a hotel lobby with drunken computer programmers fresh from a Star Trek convention who kept telling me I would be assimilated every time I rang the service bell at the concierge desk. But they were coming from Sheppard's mouth under his own power and who cares if they made about as much sense as a Trekkie proclaiming 'he's dead, Jim' after scanning me with a television remote control in the elevator of a Hilton Hotel.

They sure as hell sounded a lot better than the words that were coming out of his mouth two weeks later on yet another alien world.

"Rodney, just hold on, we're going to get you down."

Clinging desperately to the vine that held me suspended halfway down a pit of what appeared to be piranhas crossbred with beavers, I screamed back up at him, "Down? Down is the absolute last direction I want to go right now!" I gripped tighter and whimpered at the boil of fuzzy bodies in the dark water below me. "Any time now, Sheppard."

"Having flashbacks to Junior High phys ed?" Looking up I could see the flash of a smirk.

"My parents paid good money to have those traumas psychoanalyzed into repressed memories, thank you very much." One of the furry fish leaped up, nipping the toe of my boot. With a yelp I lifted my foot and shook it off, causing me to yelp again when I slid a few inches down the vine.

"McKay! For God's sake, hold on!"

"Oh, great advice, Colonel. Did you come up with that on your own or is this something you learned in flight school? Suspension in mid-air good. Falling bad."

"This from the man that wants to name his child Euclid." He stepped into the straps of the harness with a shake of his head. "You might as well just beat him up each morning before he goes to school and save the other kids the effort. Teyla, how's that line coming?" he demanded as he cinched his harness tight, checking the bindings as our Athosian teammate appeared beside him in the opening.

"It is secure," she assured, "but Ronon is not sure how much longer he can hold off the local natives."

"They're three foot tall," I pointed out in frustration as another gilled beaver surfaced. "They'd have to stand on each other's shoulders just to punch him in the nose. I'm surprised they haven't declared him a god by now."

"A poison dart in the knee cap is just as deadly," Sheppard reminded me as he eased his way over the edge of the pit. "Coming down."

He repelled down until he was even with me, pulling the second harness from his shoulder to help me work into it. "When we get back to Atlantis, Rodney, the daisy pillow is going in your room."

"You would blame this on me, wouldn't you?" I held tight to the vine as he clipped the links into place.

"I wasn't the one that fell in a hole of fanged muppet fish, now was I?"

Ignoring his comment because, well, I really didn't have a good argument, I backtracked. "And just why are you so concerned with what I name my children?"

He tugged on my harness to check his work. "Well, with that name and your rope climbing skills that he's sure to inherit, Uncle John's going to have his work cut out for him."

I tried to frown but found I couldn't stop the small smile that crept on my face. With a grin of his own he called back to Teyla. "Okay, throw down the second rope." But no rope appeared. "Teyla? Ronon?" The only answer was the ululations of an army of pygmy warriors. Sheppard grimaced. "Well, looks like things just got interesting." I just shook my head with an aggrieved sigh.

How the hell did we end up in these situations?

The End


End file.
